


Payback

by Vakarian



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vakarian/pseuds/Vakarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little payback is in order, but Vakarian has no notion of letting her get the upper hand. (Sequel to Ping!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payback

Devising firing algorithms is just one of his many talents, hobbies, too, if you will. He is awfully good at calibrating a giant gun, and the Normandy’s is ever in top shape thanks to his constant tinkering and minute adjustments. While everyone seems to take amusement in teasing him for his constant lording over the Main Battery, he knows that they are grateful. Cutting edge is just what they need in the fight against the reapers. Garrus could pick out a headshot in a hurricane, easy; precision is his specialty, after all.

They’re docked in the Citadel, most of the crew had already left to peruse and get in some relaxation, renew supplies, take care of any official business, try to find loved ones in the chaos of refugees… The thought sobers him for a moment, thinking of his father and Solana. Yes, they had made it off Palaven, but he has heard little since. Maybe they are here, on the Citadel? Garrus shakes his head dismissively, sure that they are fine. He has a job to do; they still have the reapers to stop, and worrying about two very capable turians is the last thing he needs to occupy his mind. Besides, he does enough worrying for everyone in the whole galaxy with the amount he worries about his commanding officer. She has a nasty habit of giving him more heart attacks than someone his age should ever have.

As if on cue, his comm goes off and it’s her. His entire expression relaxes, flexing his mandibles that had been tight against his face in concentration. Garrus does hesitate, however, he really needs to finish the last algorithm. Too long, because the call dies. He erects to apologize later, after he’s finished. It wouldn’t take him too much time, and he’s nearly-

His comm buzzes to life again, more urgently, perhaps? Maybe it’s just his imaginings of an increasingly impatient Shepard. He forfeits his current task, leaning heavily against the console as he answers her, finally, “Shepard. I thought you’d be enjoying the Citadel some before we head out.”

The pause is probably her shrugging, he figures. “Needed some time to myself, I guess.” She explains, and she does sound just a little tired.

“Mm, well, you definitely deserve that.” Garrus answers, and then more amused, “does your alone time usually include me?”

“It sounds like you want me to hang up on you, Vakarian.” The words are a little vicious, but he can hear the smile in them.

He laughs, wandering diagonal from the console and having a seat. He stretches his legs out with a grunt, reclining slightly. Standing around calibrating doesn’t do him any favors. “Not at all, quite the opposite.” The turian rumbles, rolling his stiff neck.

She does this little ‘hmph’, as if unconvinced. Cute. “Just choose your words carefully, all it takes is a _click_.” Shepard sounds like she thinks she’s funny, which she is, but the fact she thinks she’s being funny is all the more adorable.

He pictures her challenging gaze, little sure half-smirk on her petal-shaped lips. It always makes him want to kiss her, when she does that. Well, there is never a moment that passes where he doesn’t want to kiss her, just some strike him more than others. On the battlefield, she is so fierce and hardened. Oh, especially when she sets her jaw and that fire burns in her bright green eyes… but when it’s just them, alone… She softens impossibly, and the flame is still there, the flame that distinguishes her as Commander Shepard, but it always inspires something else entirely. “Always careful, Commander. You know that.” Garrus assures, mandibles flickering. He loves talking to her.

She laughs, and it’s a bubbling and delightful noise. “Yes, except when you’re bumping your fringe on the top of the transit car.”

His chest feels noticeably warmer, the flooding feeling of hearing her speak getting the better of him always. He removes his visor, closing his eyes briefly. Yes, he does tend to not duck just quite enough to fit, but he also tries to avoid taking the fast transit at any rate. “You have to admit those vehicles are pretty small. Especially if you take into account big turians.” Garrus explains, rather innocently.

Shepard surprises him; he can hear the smirk in her voice, “Oh, I am very aware of your size.”

The turian clears his throat. “Ah, Shepard…” He murmurs, smiling to himself. _Scheming girl_ , he thinks, remembering all so recently their last chat that was rudely interrupted before. It had been going so well, too… “Did you call just to flatter me? Because I was serious about turians not being able to blush.” While his species didn’t ‘flush’ as it were from embarrassment or exertion, their skin did heat up. Kind of like now.

“I didn’t call _just_ to flatter you. C’mon, you know I don’t use flattery to my advantage, ever.” She answers playfully, and while her statement is mostly true (Commander Shepard doesn’t kiss anyone’s ass), she has gotten the upper hand on him one too many times for her not to be up to anything ill-intended. No, perhaps not quite that, but her ulterior motives were quite apparent to him in the mischievous respect.

Garrus lets out an amused, low trill, his mandibles gleefully twitching liken to a smirk. “Of course not, ‘would not think to do you so indecently.” Idly, he starts unfastening the chest plate of his armor, finding the hulking suit uncomfortable in his seated position.

She exhales a little laugh of her own. Spirits, the grin in her tone is infectious, “Here I thought you kinda liked me indecent, Vakarian.”

He holds his breath for a moment, unable to refrain from picturing the sight. Her skin is sinfully soft, and he remembers fondly the first time touching it with his gloves removed. So supple and giving, with those little fine hairs everywhere. _So soft_. While the sight of a naked human is very much the opposite of a naked turian, and he should have not been so attracted to her in that moment, it had been _Commander Shepard_ , of all the people in the universe, naked and bare before him. Her surrender to him and her trust meant more than everything combined, and he could not remember having seen a more beautiful creature. While turians are all sharp, hard angles, hers curve together and flow with an unmatched smoothness. It is a wonder humans don’t gut themselves on a regular basis; Garrus remembers being so paranoid about his talons scraping her pliant flesh. Her constant reassurance and guidance had helped his confidence, however, and all the little gasps and encouraging whimpers were worth the learning experience.

Garrus undoes his armor a little faster, grunts. “That is _kinda_ an understatement.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know then I happen to be quite indecent right now.” She states rather factually, especially for her intentions. Though, if the goal is to tease him, it’s certainly working.

A throaty “Oh?” leaves his mouth, distracted by what that exactly entails. A gauntlet clatters to the ground as he removes a glove, the sound making him jump a little. He growls a curse too low for the translator to catch.

“What happened?”

“Nothing- just, dropped something.”

A suspicious pause. “Ah huh.”

“Anyways, you were saying?” _How indecent are you, Shepard?_

She tortures him with a few more seconds of skeptical silence, and then, purrs, “Well, I did mention ‘alone time’. A lot of time with myself is spent only in underwear.” He imagines her looking at her nails in a bored way this time, feigning her indifference to such a statement. She does like to play coy, he’s noticed.

In their time spent together, he has since taken on an appreciation for human lingerie. At least, on Shepard it looks spectacular. While she looks beautiful in combat, fully clothed in her N7 gear, what she wore underneath also held his attention if not moreso. His favorite, a lacy blue set, one he is forbidden from tearing through with his talons (a spur of the moment thing, honestly, it was only the one time). The way her skin peeks through the thin, intricate fabric. Turians hardly have such intricately designed things, kind of pointless when you’re pointy and your skin armored to boot. Garrus can’t hold back an appreciative noise that comes from his chest, thinking of how perfect she looks in blue. His mind flashes to pushing the fabric aside with one talon and teasing her with them still on (what in the world were these even for? they certainly don’t serve a practical purpose, to be so easily removed). Distantly, his name.

Once more, “Earth to Garrus!” a very strange, old human saying he still doesn’t get.

“Mm?” With the top of his armor removed, he focuses on the lower pieces now. But thanks to his wandering thoughts, his undersuit seems to be causing him a little grief, too. Even consumed with undoing latches and clasps, he figures she’s had quite enough of her own fun. He chuckles. “Sorry, Shep, was busy thinking about you in those underwear, the blue ones. Very distracting.” The turian is aware of candidness catching her off-guard, especially when she works so hard to get a leg-up on him.

Shepard huffs indignantly, and he wishes he could see the flush creep over her neck. “Well-” she cuts herself off, and there is a frustrated pause. Is she thinking of that time, moving them just enough to tease…? His commander had certainly enjoyed that, and not only could he tell in that moment, but since she would bring it up at random, almost casually. He always revels in her admitting her liking something he’s done to her. Garrus wishes she could see his smug expression. And then, without prompting, “There was, uh, when you just moved them to the side…”

Scratch one.

He wrestles his greaves off with quiet ease, growling, almost, in response. “How could I forget?” Garrus asks, and while lust is thick in his voice, there is a fondness there that is accompanied with any recollection of he and the commander. “The amount that you liked that was… very apparent.” _So wet_ , he wants to say, _Spirits, you were so wet_. He isn’t quite sure how far she wants to take this call though. He just needs one little push, just one.

“What made it so obvious?” There’s some challenging tease in there, but he can tell she is way deeper into the memory than just her words let on. He wonders how hard it is now for her not to let her hands wander, since she has so very little on.

Diverging on that thought process makes him glad his hardsuit is completely gone, because as it is his remaining clothing is hot enough. Garrus opts to be perfectly and utterly plain: “Shepard, you were practically dripping on me by the time I finally got the lace out of the way.”

She is completely silent, but perhaps not enough. He is too keen on gauging her reaction to not hear the intake of breath there. Then, she does eventually make a whining noise, the kind she makes when he says something she deems unfair. Maybe a little unfair, but she really had asked for it quite literally. Eventually, “Garrus.” No warning there, more like a request.

“Yes, Shepard, dear?” It’s a rumbling and deep answer, one he can hear her echo with another delightful noise.

“I am—I’m really wet.”

Garrus crashes there, his mind attempting to wrap around what exactly that meant. Perhaps at her desk, spread thighs and flushed pink skin, nimble fingers sneaking beneath her underwear and slicking against her sex. Maybe on the bed on her back- no, on her stomach - a growl, that’s how she _really_ liked it - with her hips raising from the mattress and wriggling on their own accord, just begging, and then her hand playing where he wants to be most. In the back of his mind, he notes his talons digging against his palms while he clenches his fists. _Be the composed one, Vakarian, she wants you to keep talking_ , a breath that vibrates with his subvocals escapes him. His mandibles set along his jaw tight, mouth plates parting slightly to reveal teeth, and he inhales now, wishing he could smell her arousal in person. “Oh, I have no doubt about that. You do get so wet so quickly..” More eagerly he says, voice notably more gravelly, “tell me what you’re doing.”

“Ah,” she probably swallows here, but nonetheless releases a breathless and aroused laugh as if relieved to finally be doing this. “I’m on the couch, I,” forgot about that one, the couch, “um, just the underwear still on, and I’ve been playing with myself for a little while now.” He can hear the smile there, sweet and alluring. It is a wonder that Shepard could be so incorrigible and completely irresistible at the same time.

Garrus can’t think about her touching herself for too long, unwilling to abandon his current task of driving her crazy to his own fantasies. However, the idea of her rolling herself between two fingers makes his nostrils flare in desire. He hums deep in consideration. “Hardly becoming of my commanding officer.” Garrus rouses, doing something close to a ‘tsk’ with his tongue. He adopts a new persona, the instigator, “What would everyone think if they knew you were touching yourself while just listening to my voice?”

An abrupt moan, though stifled, fills his ears, and he can feel himself twitch beneath his undersuit in response. He imagines those slim fingers dipping inside at his words, maybe just a little, enough to make her hips buck. His want to climb on top of her, press his face into her neck while she goes to work on herself is overwhelming. “Imagine if I were there, Shepard.” Garrus murmurs thickly; so inspired by the idea himself, his hand goes to palm between his thighs. He’s hard already, a magical gift Shepard has over him. “Do you know what I’d do to you?”

“I,” her voice has dropped, so breathy and distracted, “Garrus, please.” The note in her voice elicits an unhindered beginning of a snarl. While she is all hot and bothered by his voice, she has got to at least have an idea of what her little pleas to do him.

Garrus attempts not to be driven completely mad, teasing himself through the fabric with his talons. His hips rotate subconsciously. He grounds out, considerably more raspy, “I’d set to work between your legs, Shepard. I’d flick my tongue out and slide it over you so slowly that you’d shake with want. I’d nuzzle your thigh and just, drink in the way you smell because-” he’s growling, subharmonics heavy with pained arousal, “because you smell so good when you’re ready to be _fucked_.”

There is a gasp this time, hitched and no doubt reeling from his language. Seldom did he use that word outside of behind closed doors, and with good reason. He reserves it specifically for when he wants to drive her up a wall. Literally, sometimes.

“ _Garrus_. You’re so good, I,” well, the praise certainly doesn’t hurt the situation any, “just, please, don’t stop.”

He has no intention of it. His smug expression is broken when he undoes the entirety of his undersuit and finally, finally, grabs his own cock in his taloned hand. He can’t help the groan of relief, working a well-placed claw just over the tip. Garrus relishes the resounding whimper, another more, alarmed and embarrassed version of his name escaping her. He laughs, short, deep. It, while makes him bemused, is infuriatingly hot when she gets so damn flustered. And lucky for Shepard, his confidence drips off of him when they’re intimate now. He knows exactly what she wants, everything she likes. She has her moments of teasing, smirking fun, but ultimately, when she relinquishes herself to him, nothing quite compares to it.

Garrus is brought back to the moment when he squeezes himself. Grunts. “Not only your scent, Shepard, but, Spirits, the way you taste,” his tongue flickers over his pointed teeth hungrily; he could really eat her up, “I’d run my tongue over you again and again if it meant getting to taste you, working every gasp and moan out of that mouth of yours.”

She is quiet except for those _noises_. Her soft pants are music to his ears, he tries to keep his hand in time with them, hopefully in time with her own sticky fingers. Garrus knows she’s needy, knows she wouldn't want to be teased much more than necessary. “And when you’re trembling and such a pretty mess, the way your chest rises and falls,” he has to pause to swallow, the thought is intoxicating, “your lips parted. Oh, don’t let me get started on what I’d want to put in your mouth-” A wicked pass, his mandibles flare in giddy satisfaction, releasing a purring breath.

“G—Garrus, that’s-”

“It’s what, Shepard?” He quips back, no doubt infuriatingly. “What? You don’t want me to talk about holding your head still and pressing the tip of my dick against your lips, huh?” The snarl surfaces to his throat, and his hand works faster, applying pressure in spots that make his eyes flutter in their sockets. “Or should I keep going where I left off, the part where you’re all flushed and ready for me to take you. Should I talk about the way I rub my cock against your clit— oh, I know you like that. Your legs fall open, and you _beg_ for it, you beg for me to just _fuck_ you.”

This time Shepard’s moan is with reckless abandon, and she’s pleading to him in a series of ‘please’ and ‘don’t stop’, _please please please_. How many fingers does she have in her? Certainly she isn’t neglecting her breasts either. The way she arches into him when he bites and teases there… A more coherent, “I want you so bad, Garrus, so fucking bad.” And then it dissolves once more into her labored breathing.

“I know you do.” He growls back, a little too focused on pleasuring himself at the moment. Garrus closes his eyes, pictures spreading her milky thighs open with both his hands- “I want you too, Shepard.” This is more a whisper, a kind of surrender of his own.

“Please make me come, please.” The desperation in her tone is delicious.

The request makes him moan, and he quickly afterward grits his teeth, mandibles tight against his face. He bucks into his own hand, and he manages to exhale a chuckle that’s more in character to his onslaught. “Don’t I always? It’s usually when I’ve got you practically folded in half— Spirits, and that flexibility is-” _very incredible_. “I’m so deep then, Shepard, and you’re so damn tight. Especially when you squeeze me, that’s, that’s when I know I’m doing good. And I only want to fuck you deeper, and faster, and you always cry for me, you always cry out my name. And if I want you really tight around my cock, I reel my hand back and smack your ass, and I-”

The telltale cry that comes from the other side of the comm makes his mind blank, his hand twisting around his length painfully. He chokes on his own groan, heart pounding in his ears but it’s not enough to drown out the beautiful mantra of his name. Her throes of ecstasy push him over the edge, and his hips ride it out, fingers squeezing out every last drop. He is panting now too, leaned back in the chair. Garrus tries to blink away the hazy feeling of his high, and a distant part of his mind trills on about how wonderful Shepard is, what a privilege it is to bring her pleasure. A mixture of lingering arousal and unbridled affection tingles across his skin.

Garrus clears his throat. “You didn’t even let me get to the part where I come all over you.” While spent, there is a rush sent straight to his cock. He curses himself.

“Oh, shut up.” She replies breathlessly but he can hear the undeniable bliss there, too.

He laughs fully, amusement easy in post-orgasm. “I suppose I am just that good.”

Shepard seethes, though with nothing more than good humor. “Laugh it up now, Vakarian. I’m going to pay you back for this, and- and for the last time too.”

“I have no doubts, my dear.”

A pause. “Do you want to come take a shower?” She asks, some innocent hesitance there.

“Absolutely.” Garrus can’t put his clothes back on fast enough.


End file.
